Mrs. Smith-Uncensored

6 years Today

2010-02-28T10:03:00.001-08:00

Sunday, February 28, 2010

Dear Pammy,

6 years ago February 29th was a Sunday. It is the day my life started on a path to be forever changed by YOU. I went in the bathroom and peed on a little stick. Almost instantly proof of your existence traveled up the stick. Daddy panicked. He said “Sit it down and give it 3 minutes.” (Like that might change anything) We did. We sat nervously in the dining room, almost feeling the Earth shifting, sand sliding between our toes, as our lives as we knew it started to shift.

The 3 minutes passed, the test still read positive, and Daddy and I sat excited and scared and nervous. We talked of things like making a doctor’s appointment, our upcoming vacation, and of saving money. Then the realness passed and we became giddy with excitement. We quickly devised a plan to tell our families. I found MY old baby blanket that Aunt Francy had knitted for me to come home from the hospital with when I was born and a diaper.

We drove to Mummall’s first. They were teary eyed and excited. Aunt Breanna sat there very blasé because God forbid she ever act excited. Then we drove to C-Ma’s. Their reaction was comical. You know how excited C-Ma gets. Daddy told Pappy Smitty, “Watch out, when she looks into that bag it is going to get crazy.” And it did. C-Ma was yelling “OH MY. OH MY.” Smitty peaked in and saw the blanket and a diaper nestled with a diaper inside and he teared up. And poor Uncle Josh was just so lost, he was like, “What is in that bag? WHAT IS IN THE BAG?” Because C-Ma was yelling and crying and Smitty was emotional, I think we had him scared. It was such a great moment.

That day set in motion a world Daddy and I never imagined. We never realized just how WONDERFUL having you would be, how life changing, how much happier you would make our lives. Now here we are 6 years later, and I hope that not a day goes by while you are on the Earth that you don’t realize how much you are loved and by how many people. Not just here but by those who are watching over you from heaven.

I loved you since you were still just bean in the belly and that is not a second of any day that my heart isn’t full of love for you, Pamela Rose!

Love,

Mommy

Looking for Happiness

2010-01-20T15:15:00.000-08:00

“EITHER DO IT AND BE HAPPY OR DON’T DO IT AND BE HAPPY! THAT IS ALL I WANT!”

I lay next too him in the dark, stunned. The battle that should have been mine in this dramatized marital war- should have easily been mine, but those words pierced me, maybe because they are true. The fight HE started (even he will admit that much) is laid in my lap so easily. This has never been about HIM and what he wants. It has been about ME. Me and what I need or want, or think would make my other wise blessedly wonderful life “better.” The only thing between me and being happy is my weight, when it is really just me and my line of thinking.

The fight started over a cupcake. It was late, we were foraging the kitchen for snacks, when he cracked open the cupcake container my Mom had “so kindly” sent over. I decided to have one, and out of no where, he says, “Did you go on the treadmill today?” He says it innocently, but I catch the undertone or sarcasm. In my head “did you go on the treadmill today” translated instantly into, “hey fatty, quit shoving cupcakes in your mouth and go work out.” I lose it, I blow up like an agitated puffer fish. He sees the error, sees his mis-step, and brings out his old standby. “I am so tired of wasting money on this crap and you never use it. You have to have it when basically it is like flushing money into the toilet.” I start yelling about how he is calling me fat and he doesn’t budge. Because he has on his side the fact that he has loved me since day 1-at about 218, to my highest of 277, unconditionally. The ONLY reasons he pushes me to work out are:

1. He hates wasting money. More than about anything, so me not working out on the equipment we spent money on gets under his skin in some magical way that I can hardly grasp.

2. Me hating me is a common fact. He has scientifically deduced that I feel better about me if I work out. He also figured out the better I feel about me, the better his sex life gets.

3. I am really worried about being crazy like my Mom. More that that, I stress over the girls ending up with depression. When I work out it levels my moods. It keeps me from needing medicine.

So after us exploding downstairs I stomp upstairs with the reason I have not been exercising, the new Stephen King book, Under the Dome. I lay in bed reading and fuming. I want to feel victorious, I am trying to feel hurt and rage over his fat connotation, but how can I? I mean he finds me sexy, when I hardly can look in the mirror. I ask him to motivate me, and he doesn’t know how. He watches me analyze every calorie and then sees me with a cupcake….And this has been for years. Years of me hating me, of me wondering how he could love this fat slobby loser. Years of him listening to me cry about being fat, cry about how I hate myself, how I cannot look in the mirror at the person he LOVES. And then when he comes upstairs to apologize and I continue instigating him, he yells that “he just wants me to be happy” and he always has. He doesn’t know what to do with this. He sees something in me beautiful that I cannot begin to comprehend and all he wants is for me to be happy.

JUST DO IT and BE HAPPY or DON’T DO IT and BE HAPPY. Part of me could just not do it and be happy. It is easier to eat everything I want, when I want, never denying myself anything, but what kind of example does that set? What does that show my kids? Has there ever been an article printed that said, “I lost all the weight, I feel terrible, and my life sucks, and I wish I was fat again?”

I need to suck it up and find my way. There is always a million excuses, a million reasons why not. I need to learn to love myself as is. I wish I knew how, but I believe I am going to find my way.

Nicole, it is me, God, sending you an email

2010-01-14T19:47:00.001-08:00

Self-love is the only weight-loss aid that really works in the long run.

- Jenny Craig, diet guru

Do you ever feel like God is sending you a message? I received this quote in a motivational email from sparkpeople.com It was perfectly timed “Hey Nicole, nice depressing blogging lately about how you hate my creation. How about working on this self love thing?” (That is what I imagine God saying to me when I received this quote.)

So I am working on it. I feel so blessed every day and I need to try and learn to appreciate this body I have. Not to appreciate the body I am hoping to create, but loving this one I am in. So I have been thinking about how I do that. I am not sure but here is what I have come up with so far:

- Trying to make an effort with my appearance

- Trying to not think negatively about myself. To think positively.

- I am going to stand in front of the mirror and say 3 nice things about my body and TRY to not analyze all of it its faults.

That is all I have. Any other suggestions?

“I would do anything to lose weight; except diet and exercise.”

2010-01-08T12:39:00.000-08:00

“I would do anything to lose weight; except diet and exercise.”

This quote once had Geeg and I giggling so hard we almost wet our pants. We were discussing how badly we wanted to lose weight……we would do anything…ANYTHING to lose weight but when it came down to it, we would not, could not eat properly and exercise regularly. That is what it boils down to, right? We will starve for 2 weeks and then eat like hungry hungry hippos when someone lets those little white balls loose. One step forward and then a football field backwards.

I read a blog on sparkpeople.com from a guy who said that one day he was reading a blog where a woman mentioned she “lost control” around certain foods. He thought about this, and then visualized Oreos holding him down and jumping into his mouth, this made him analyze that he in fact was in control. His imagery of the food holding him hostage made something click for him and he is losing weight. (If he can do it I can to? No he didn’t say that) He realized even on the worst days of binge eating, he was in control of what he consumed. What a thought.

So now my active imagination has me picturing Aunt Honey holding a stun gun to me while I gobble her homemade goodies 3 or 4 at a time. As funny as that seems in my mind, it is not what happens. She says “try this, it’s new” I try one, and then another one, and then one more. No one makes me down a 10 piece nuggets, plus a double cheeseburger, while gulping a large sweet tea, and cramming fries down my pie hole. I decided quick and easy and fattening was the way to go.

To think, looking down at my hills and valleys and rolls, that I am responsible for this is mind blowing. You mean no great injustice was done to me? I did this to myself? I was in control when everyone brought in goodies at work and I just ate until I was sick, that was me? So I am digesting this (along with the healthy lunch I just consumed) and I am hoping this continues to click with me. On good or bad days, at birthday parties, funerals, weddings, date nights, I am the one controlling what and how much I eat. I will be the one celebrating or mourning when the scale gives me a number each week.

Hopefully, this is the breakthrough I need to keep me on track. Even if it isn’t, at least I’ll know there is no one to blame but the person I am constantly avoiding in the mirror.

Letting Go

2010-01-06T08:01:00.000-08:00

I am getting ready to go out. A pair of jeans that were becoming loose are now tight. I toss them on the bed and grab another pair. My jeans are all the same, ill fitting, too long for my legs, and cheap. I throw on a baggy sweater with a tank top underneath. I stand right next to the mirror in my room and put my rings on, my necklace, look for my earrings. I glance in the mirror, a split second look. I hate mirrors. I do. I never stand there and admire myself, for the exception of when I am losing weight. And although I have ALWAYS been fat, I have lost some weight. Before I got pregnant with P I lost 50 pounds and exited the 200’s or the first time since I was like 15. Then this past year I lost 40 pounds in 7 months and have been spending these last 5 putting them back on. I don’t even want to step on the scale to see how much of the hard work I gave back.

The mirror never has anything special for me. I never like any part that I see. I don’t dress to impress. Since I don’t believe I am worth it, I don’t dress like I am worth it. When I catch myself in a reflective window or a picture is snapped I always over analyze how I look. How bad I look. I destroy myself. I see nothing worth saving. I need to stop this.

Have you ever seen pictures of weight loss people? They look like they shook off a fat suit. The guy that won Biggest Loser this year looks completely different from his fat self. What will I look like underneath all of this? What is under here? I don’t know, but part of me is scared to find out.

The thing about weight loss methods is that they always want it to seem ‘easy.” Just eat this and in 2 weeks you will be down 10 pounds and feeling great. Or with just 30 minutes a day you too can have the body you always dreamed of. I don’t think it is easy. I think it is war. I keep waiting. I started losing control in July. Then I gave up completely in October when I started back on the junk-Pepsi. Weightloss success stories are always, “if I can do this, you can do this” But in reality they did it. They did and I am happy for them, but I don’t believe in me, so how can a stranger in a magazine believe in me?

Today is a different day. I need to be done with excuses. I had a bad childhood. These days who doesn’t? I use this feeling of worthlessness to hold me back from being successful. Why don’t I write- I might do it well? Because I will fail. I am fat and therefore I think I am worthless. So I need to stop I need to work on loving me. At every size. I need to learn and value my worth.

So here are 3 of the most humiliating things that happened to me regarding my weight:

1. 2 years ago at the family reunion I was climbing into UB’s pool and a step on the ladder BROKE. UB reassured me that the step was old but I felt so alone and embarrassed. His cousins have 2 or 3 kids and are wearing bikinis.

2. At Kennywood a ride had trouble buckling. Therefore I haven’t ridden any rides in 5 years. 5 years. I could just feel the still pimply teen judging me.

3. “When are you due?” Nuff said.

I am done with all that. I can’t keep going like this. So enough crying my woes. This is the tale of one fat girl, mostly happy with her life, looking to find happiness from with in-while shedding some of what is on the out.. There will be laughs and tears and tantrums. This is not to motivate YOU but to motivate me and maybe let you in my head a little bit. Wish me luck I’m gonna need it..

Who says I am not good enough?

2010-01-05T11:01:00.001-08:00

Another season of Biggest Loser ends. There are so many reasons I LOVE and Loathe Biggest Loser. I love Biggest Loser because it gives people hope and motivation. I dislike it because I feel like the unsaid message is “If you can quit your job, join the gym, and work out 6 hours a day, you too can be fit.” Maybe I just hate the fact that I start every season fired up with these fellow fatties and by week 3 most of the weigh less than me AND I am eating foods I shouldn’t be eating while I am watching the show. Then I feel shame and the whole circle repeats. When the finale plays I sit on the couch, miserable, crying tears of joy for them, but thinking “why is that not me? Why am I NOT good enough?”

But who says I am not good enough? Did NBC personally call me at home and say “Hey Big Girl, we know you can’t handle this so keep your fat ass on the couch while we pick some better more deserving people than you?” No, I never applied. Sometimes I lay in bed and think of making this awesome video and sending it in. But my heart won’t let me. I have two small girls and a husband who loves me at home. I just cannot see them or me functioning with out me. Besides part of me wants to prove that you don’t need a personal trainer or a gym membership. You can have your life and live it healthier with out drastic measures. (I think that sentence was a remix on ‘you can have your cake and eat it too’) I need this to be true because I am not going to abandon my family for a 3 month period or wear a bra and spandex in front of my in-laws on national TV. I cannot afford a gym, I am lucky to be able to afford my mortgage and car payments. (And I do mean lucky, this is a recession you know)

The thing is; I sit on the couch wondering why I am not good enough. Who ever told me I wasn’t? There is someone, who for years told me I wasn’t good enough. He drilled into me that I was worth nothing. Everything I did was wrong. Life would be better off if I was not in it. I was verbally abused for a long time by a step-parent. While my mom knew this, she was being abused, and she let me also endure his verbal beatings. Not every kind of abuse leaves marks on the outside of your body. I started gaining weight soon after he moved in. My Mom never defending me, her not casting his cancerous attitude out of our lives, and not standing up to him made me believe that the things he said must be true. It must be right. Not only did HE think I was worthless, she must agree, and if she agreed, it must be the truth. But now I am 29. There can be no excuses. I have spent almost twenty years overweight to obese. I have spent them avoiding mirrors, shying away from dreams, and feeling like I am never good enough. I used to think I would never be in love. I would maybe have kids from getting pregnant, but I never questioned the fact that I deserved to be loved, because I believed I did not. I used to lie next to ‘The Big Guy’ and say things like “but why do you love me?” I never could see the value in myself. But part of me still must not see it.

I remember the few times my Mom pretended to be involved in the PTA I would be so embarrassed by her size. I am doing that same thing to my kids. Pammy starts kindergarten in the fall. Will I really do the same thing to my kids? When will she notice that I am the fat Mom if she hasn’t already? Will my girls follow in my footsteps? Do I want them to shy away from mirrors and not know how beautiful they are, inside and out?

When are you due?

2010-01-01T15:28:00.000-08:00

“How far along are you?” The lady, who will forever be remembered as ‘the women wearing white after Labor Day’ asks as I smooth my hair in the lady’s room bathroom. 30 seconds before this, I politely commented on how nice she looked, while secretly wondering if she was breaking some Fashionista rules in the all-white-head-to toe-mini-skirt-on a 40-year-old –at-her-husbands-Christmas-party. I knew her husband was a douche bag since last year they bickered the entire evening at our table and he uttered degrading comments about women.

My brain slowly digested this “How far along are you” for longer than necessary. I had 3 Jack Daniels’s Lemonades and I had been feeling good. At 232 pounds I had never once been considered pregnant by a stranger. I spent 2 pregnancies wishing people would notice I was pregnant and ask me when I was due. There were even maternity shirts out that read “not fat, pregnant” I jokingly told my husband that I wanted one that read, “Not Just fat, also pregnant.” I could feel the sexy underwear and Plunge bra I wasted $45 on losing their potency. I felt my smile falter. I could not show weakness. I smiled brightly and said, “No, I am not pregnant” The Look on White After Labor Day’s face was priceless-Shock, Horror at her mistake; and incredulous that how could I not be pregnant. I repeated for her stunned disbelief face, “No not pregnant, actually I lost weight since last year’s party.” I saw Her husband waiting for her on the way out and shuddered at the thought of her telling him her mistake. I decided then and there that they deserved each other.
I walked back into the party and over to my husband. He was ready to drag me to the dessert bar. The idea of White After Labor day seeing me choosing from the bounty of cakes, rolls, and cheesecakes brought red circles of shame to my face. I whispered to my husband-my absolute best friend-what had transpired in the Ladies Room. He said, “I am sot surprised it was her. You see how miserable they are.” His solution involves me walking to the cake table with him and him carrying all the cake. Men.
Back at the table I sit forking delicious apple and cream cheese filled cake into my mouth but not enjoying it as much as I would have fifteen minutes ago, All I keep hearing in my head “when are you due?” Because even if they are both DB’s with a miserable marriage, we were just two ladies in a restroom with no connection. I don’t even think she remembered me from last year’s party. I paid her a compliment, she was making conversation.
Later, we walked back up to our hotel room. Ray with anticipation at what was to come, me with dread. I stood for a few minutes in front of the mirror. Before the party I had liked everything. My hair looked good; I had gotten some great costume jewelry to wear, a simple black dress that I made sure clung to no roll. Most of the time I shy away from mirrors, but today I had felt good. Pretty in a plus sized way. All that had evaporated.
“What are you doing? You look beautiful, don’t let what she said ruin our evening.” And because he loves me, finds me sexy no matter the size, I turn around and kiss him and do just what he says. “When are you due” slinks to the back of my mind as my dress slides to the floor.

Betrayal

2009-01-13T11:58:00.001-08:00

Betrayal:

A few years ago one of the line cooks hooked up with a girl. She ended up getting a job managing here. Right about the time I transferred over here, they had a baby and she went on maternity leave. When she came back to do some office work from home, we really hit it off and became great friends. It was common knowledge that her boyfriend was/is the biggest douche on Earth. He hates the entire world. The only time he is even remotely pleasant is after he self medicates with 5 long island iced teas. The horror stories from her over him added up over time. Like while she was at the hospital he stayed at the restaurant drinking until 3 in the morning. Just the thought of him doing that makes my blood run cold, makes me thankful for what I have, and makes me not surprised.

She found being a Mom hard, and I agreed at first it is such an adjustment period. The Moms that look so perfect, they have it all together, they can unnerve you. We bonded. Our daughters grew bigger and we hung out and vented to each other. There was one thing between us-her now husband. She had a big wedding at a huge, gorgeous church. All everyone talked about up until the wedding was how she could marry such a miserable human being. Slyly people asked questions, voiced concerns in hopes of opening her eyes to the future she was signing up for. She argued that he was different at home, and while it was hard to imagine, we walked her walk down the aisle.

Warning signs flashed when they came home early from their honeymoon. They were homesick for their daughter. Others judged, but I was understanding. To this day I have trouble leaving the girls over night.

Our friendship took some hits after about 2 years, mainly because I found out her husband trashed me a few times. He hates that I am an upbeat happy person; it actually kills him that I am pleasant. A few things got back to me that he said, so I knew he had to be trashing me at home. I felt uncomfortable confiding in her, wondering what she told him. This year, a bit before Thanksgiving, rumor had it that they were separating. She had asked him to change some ways, he hadn’t, and she had hit her limit, and was ending the marriage. No one blamed her. I asked her about it, my heart was aching for her and her daughter. I feel like she had to have seen something none of us had seen to marry him. One day I felt bad for letting him come between our friendship and called her. I am so not emotional but tears came to my eyes as I apologized and told her I would be here if she needed anyone to talk to.

At our Christmas party I noticed her sitting with some cooks from our other restaurant. I saw her flirting and had been thinking for months that they had been giving her the attention she wasn’t getting at home. I could tell because she suddenly loved her job way more than ever. Her husband had broken his foot and she was working extra shifts and coming in late. When I saw her at the party I thought to myself that she looked too comfy, too happy. Her husband limped around and talked with people but she never made an attempt to hang out with him. I figured working it out was out the window. She accepted that the marriage was ending and soon they would both be moving on.
Yesterday the grapevine struck once again. A server approached me and said:
“You know it’s all over for C right? “
“What do you mean?” My heart sank because I knew. On some level I knew.
“j. found out. C forgot her cell phone and J went through it. He thinks it happened only one time but it has been going on for months.” My mouth hung open with shock. I asked questions. It was the cook from the other restaurant.

So many things make me mad. If you were going to end it, then end it before you move on. Don’t sneak around for months lying to everyone, friends, family, and your spouse. I feel disgust. I know J is a douche but she made a morally wrong choice. I mean how many times did he think she was just having drinks up at the restaurant while she was having a booty call? She should have just ended it. Her and J never even had sex, they would go months with out, and now she is Miss Independent with a co-worker at a restaurant she manages at, her husband works at, and oh by the way, her brother in law owns? How many people knew, yet smiled and shook J’s hand, and wished him a happy holiday?

I thought C was a cool, down to Earth girl, my first Mom friend. My heart is broken at the loss of our friendship. It is totally gone now, never to be picked up again. So many people in this industry cheat on their spouses. It makes me sick. Where are people’s morals? I am not all about divorce, but I would not begrudge her being happy, but she could have at least waited until it was definite that she was leaving him. He is working at therapy, trying to lose weight, trying to change, and she is boffing her 3 o’clock fry cook.
I feel like I am so naïve to think that most people have good hearts. I constantly believe this only to be let down in some huge way.

Pink Monster Love

2009-01-07T18:01:00.001-08:00

Wednesday, January 07, 2009

A few months ago I read this article in Parenting Magazine about how every parent has a favorite child. This, at first, confirmed one of my childhood fears; my Mom loved Breanna or me more. For years we have always played the “I am Mom’s Favorite” card. I have an Italian charm, we sign each other’s birthday cards with it, and I write it in my scrapbook all of the time.

Then I thought of your 2 girls. I realized maybe that author has a favorite, but I don’t. I can honestly say I love you both an overwhelming amount. I love you both more than anything else on this planet. I love you with a love that is abundant and endless. I will love you know matter what you do or where life takes you, but I do not love one of you more than the other.

Even on days when one of you might seem close to being choked, or put in the corner, even when you pee all the way down my steps (Pammy Rose), or you follow me non-stop saying “Up Peas!” (Doodle) I don’t love you less and suddenly love the other one more. Many of the reasons I love you are the basics; I gave birth to you, you are my kids, and you are so damn cute.

Individually I love you for many different reasons. Precious P, I love that you were my first baby. You are smart, imaginative, artistic, and even at 4 when you sneak into bed with me and cuddle up close, I feel like you were meant for me to cuddle to you. Doodle, I love that even though I thought I knew what I was doing when you came along that at every step you have to shake things up and be different. I love how you think I am everything, the sweet way you cup my face and kiss me or “nosey kiss”, I love how you are good with animals, and how funny you are already. You both came from Daddy and me but behave so differently. More than anything I am so lucky to be your Mom. I would not trade you for anything in the world. You 2 and Daddy are the best things that ever happened to me. Each and every day I get to wake and see you Pink Monsters is a blessing.

Love always,
Mommy.

Douche bags are everywhere

2008-11-24T15:53:00.000-08:00

Friday's article:
'We'? Are you sitting here, too? The next time a server in a restaurant approaches me and my friends with the greeting, "So, how we doin' today?" I would like to say, "How we doin'? Well, I can't speak for you but my friends and I are doing fine, thank you."
Likewise, at the end of the meal, if the server asks, "Are we having any dessert today?" I would like to say, "I don't know -- are we? What are you having? Do I have to buy it for you? Will 'we' also be sharing the tip?"
I'm particularly annoyed when I politely say, "Thank you," after a server brings me something I have ordered, and that server responds with: "No problem," or "Not a problem." I always think, "Well, there'd better not be a problem! After all, you're being paid to wait on me; you're not doing me a favor!"
I wish the people who train restaurant staff would teach them that the proper response to, "Thank you," is, "You're welcome."
-- STEVE BURNS, Upper St. Clair

My response:

Hello. I work at a local restaurant. This morning I was greeted with a clipping from your newspaper on the bulletin board. I stared in open-mouthed shock. I am used to dealing with rude people daily and was surprised that one would take the time to put-down servers on paper. Usually if inclined, the customers just treat us like trash as we wait on them. This heightened their attack. I think people don’t realize we work very hard for what should be your 15-20% tip and often run ourselves for your measly 10%.
Personally I don’t use the word “we” when I serve, but each server has his own style. When customers butcher the English language for such complicated terms as casserole, quesadilla, and gnocchi, I don’t feel the need to alert the press. I also do not write in over the rudeness of “I need a drink refill” (Where is the please? ) I don’t question the fact when I say “May I get you something to drink?” and they respond with “No, I’ll just have a water.” that something is wrong with that statement. That one perplexes me. I mean, do they plan on washing their hands in it? Because if they plan on lifting the straw to their lips, sucking out liquid, and swallowing, that is STILL classified as a drink. I didn’t call the local news channel over this slip in speech. As for the pleasant use of the word “we” maybe he should dine somewhere where the servers do not try to be friendly.
I love that Mr. Burns’ dining experience can be effected with a simple “no problem.” I thank and I am thanked a myriad of times each day. After a table runs me to death for things they should have asked for 2-3 trips ago, a “no problem” seems sufficient; what I mean is “maybe after I get you your third refill I can wash your car and change your stinky baby’s diaper.” You pay me to deliver your food, but it seems you ask me to do much more than that. If you deliver an 8 top and each one thanks you, do you “your welcome” each one, or just respond with a “no problem” after the 5th person? No problem is also a lead into “that’s what I am here for so logically me setting down your food is literally no problem.” Maybe I will try that next time.
My least favorite part of his rant was “you're being paid to wait on me; you're not doing me a favor!” I make $2.83/hour. I depend on the KINDNESS and GENEROSITY of people to feed my children and pay my mortgage. I see so many great customers daily, but there are those few that can ruin the whole day. Next time I am training a new server, I will skip the training on friendliness and cleanliness and devote my time to proper etiquette.
WE hope to not have Mr. Burns in our section anytime soon.
-She works hard for the money.

2008-11-16T06:48:00.000-08:00

Parenting is one of the craziest things ever. The idea that I am shaping and molding the future of our country is scary. I never knew parenting could be so full of ups and downs. I remember being pregnant with P. and just laying in bed with Ray envisioning the bliss of having a baby. Taking her for walks, dressing her, making her into a little adorable fashion accessory at parties, holding her in my arms and falling in love. I felt ill-prepared for the he realistic view of having kids. That sweet adorable baby never sleeps, and she cries, and just when you survive that one and upgrade her to toddler, number 2 comes along and just when you think you have things figured out-Surprise-Colic!

You can't really prepare someone for vomit at 3 AM, or being so sick but still caring for everyone else, you can't prepare yourself for how life changing it is.
There are some days that seem like from the time you wake up, you know they are not going to go smoothly. On Thursday, for example, I slept in (7:45 AM y'all) and forgot Aunt Dee was coming over early. I hear her voice and fly downstairs. Danielle wakes up and her eyes are gooked shut. She has pink eye. (Best friends share everything, like letting their kids contaminate each other with highly contagious diseases, Rachel!) I call for a well check. I am standing in the dining room when they give me the available appointment, 9:45 AM.

It is 9:10. My Dr.'s office is at least 20 minutes away. Pammy is naked, Danielle is not, I haven't even brushed my teeth, and I can feel the imaginary FEMA crew in my head declaring my hair a natural disaster. I take the appointment. If you think you NASCAR goes fast, you should see plus size Mommy trying to get the pink (Literally) monsters rounded up and out the door. Butter bread is a healthy breakfast right?

On the way out the back door I fall. I have 2 options, land, squish, and kill offspring, or go the other way and injure knee, pride, and butt bone. This is such a classic Nicole moment as I hobble to the car. I drive safely to the Dr. (Only because I swore to Ray that I would no longer make the van go past 65 miles per hour). Danielle ends up having pink eye in both eyes AND the bonus free gift, every parents' favorite- an ear infection.

Pammy shows no sign of infection, so I call Ray, make him leave work in time for dance. I missed dance the week before for a well check, I will not be thwarted again. Before nap, Pammy's eye is watering. No dance class. One day a week I get to sit, relax, and blow off steam about anything and everything. I cannot be the trashy Mommy that knowingly pink eyes the entire class.

We still had to go to a viewing an hour away. Barbie Diamond Castle Princess on the way out, Barney on the way back. Ray cannot take being lost, following directions, or trusting someone to get him somewhere. He constantly makes me reread him the directions to the point where I want to shove them up his pooper. The last few turns have him in an OCD panic and we resort to calling each other petty names, and I get us there like I do-EVERY TIME. The drive home I put my head phones in and he misses the point of leaving me alone and keeps talking.
So all that day I kept being like "what did i sign up for"

Then yesterday we wake up and go up to wake up Ray after a while. Pammy watched Sharkboy and Lavagirl and now strips down to her undies to be LavaGirl (she wore clothes in the movie) A huge battle breaks out. Ray is standing on the chair in our room holding Lava Baby over his head. I don't want to tell you what he is wearing because the imagery is not pretty. I am standing on our bed, naked Lava Girl is shooting imaginary lava at them. We are crushing Lava Dad/Shark dad with our powers. This is better then anything I ever imagined and worth twisted ankles, pink eye, never sleeping, the works. Last night Danielle woke up and I just held her in my arms while she drank her milk. Her eyes heavy with sleep, opening and closing, looking at me with so much trust. Every down day is worth a minute of their happiness.

and there it is

2008-09-18T08:35:00.000-07:00

I sit, our conversation almost of student and teacher and we go over things.
"Lie back" So I do, and the paper crinkles beneath me. I feel large and awkward which has been the theme of my life since age 11. Modesty departed me when I gave birth to Pammy. Her hands explore, softly routinely, gentle and firm. My heart is beating nervously. Maybe I imagined it. The search seems endless. Then from across a million miles her voice says "Here it is." and now it is true. It can't be taken back, wished away, or pushed to a corner of my mind that it never really existed.

We continue to talk as if what just happened didn't make my world seemingly go flat.The nurse is calling the hospital making me an appointment for an u/s. I think of the excitement and worry and joy that went into all of the other u/s's I have had. The little baby swimming inside of me, "Hello there, are you a boy or a girl?" even though in my heart I knew her. The 2nd time, "So you are the little girl that has been making Mommy so sick!" It isn't until I hear her say "Left Breast, 3 O'clock" that the tears slowly start sneaking out of my eyes.

I wait numbly for my prescription. I pay my co-pay, and don't start crying openly until I shut the van door behind me. Inside my head I am screaming "ITS NOTHING" and on some level, I know that is true. I know it is. It will be. I feel like at any minute I might just go nuts. I call Ray, I ramble on about the Doctor's appointment, stretching it out, not wanting to say it out loud. As if mentioning it will give it power. IT IS NOTHING. I hysterically start sobbing to Ray about the scheduled u/s and the blood work (just to be safe) and I hear the shock in his tone. He recovers quickly and says all the right things to make me not go crazy. I love him for a million reasons and the way he makes me feel balanced is just one. I know it will be fine, but I know it kind of scared us both shitless.

I drive home, and blurt out the news to my Mom. "YOU'LL BE FINE. I know it." I nod and cry a little and then try and push it out of my mind. I go to work. Do I tell anyone? Do I tell no one? Is telling people going to give this tiny pebble power over me? If it is nothing, if it is NOTHING, should I just not say anything? Just sit here and keep saying it is my head until I believe it? Because part of me knows, it really is going to be okay. No matter how this play out from this point on, Ray and I have always been a team and we always be a team, and we will get through it. But when you hear there is a lump, it is scary. It is NOTHING and EVERYTHING in the same breath.

I try it out, telling my Aunt's, my sister, and my cousin. I feel guilty like I am burdening them with a worry that is unneccessary. Saying it outloud is scary. IT IS NOTHING. But it sits in there just reminding me that it can't be totally nothing or I would not have an appt. next Thursday.

I am 28, it is going to be a benign cyst, and I am going to feel so relieved that I expended so much energy worrying about NOTHING.

Saturday Smith's

2008-09-14T10:19:00.001-07:00

Saturday mornings are always kind of rough on Mommy. Friday nights, Ray and I will stay up late watching TV or a movie or playing Monopoly. (This past Friday I was reading Duma Key, and he was flicking through all the music video channels) I try and lay on the couch while the girls climb on me, demand cookies, milk, candy, Pooh Bear, every toy that a commercial may advertise. Danielle stands directly in front of me, planting her knee right by my nose and hollers "Up PEAS!" until I take the hint and give her a boost.

Eventually I haul up, get the girls a small snack, get a diaper for Doodle, and we all brush our teeth. Then after letting Daddy sleep in, we march up the steps like a herd of elephants, and wake up Ray. Now is one of my Saturday highlights, sometimes we all cuddle, sometimes the girls hop down and play in their room. There are repeated trips in from both showing various toys, and Pammy is yelled at multiple times from jumping from the chair to the bed and back. Ray becomes a Cuddle Monster, or Chuck the Pony, or pretends to be sleeping while they find painful ways to wake him.

Daddy gets up (Finally!) and helps the girls clean up their room and I sneak downstairs and make breakfast. We eat in the dining room, Danielle constantly making a mess, and we discuss our "plan for the day" The plan for the day could be anything; birthday parties, grocery shopping, or nothing carefully mapped out through the afternoon.

I like to take the girls out about 6 PM and read in my chair while they play in the yard and the sun is slowly making its way over the hill behind the house. I look up somtimes and smile at what my Pink Monsters are doing, Daniellle trying to manuever a wheelbarrow, Pammy climbing her little house and pretending to fish off of it, or her absolute concentration on sand box activities, and I just marvel at how LUCKY I am. Lucky to have them, a husband that I love, a roof over our heads. Just blessed.

Getting the girls to bed is always an adventure, but then there they are. Tucked in. Pammy said her prayer, Danielle went down easy, and Ray and I have some time alone.

It is bliss. God has blessed me and I am thankful.

A day for tears

2008-09-05T09:03:00.000-07:00

Today I am going to a 17 year old girl's wake. She died on Monday in an accident on 79. I was not personally close to her; she was in colorguard with Breanna and April these last 3 years, and last year she dated Josh, Ray"s little brother. My cousin April is also best friends with her sister. I have enough of a reason to go and pay my respects and be there for Josh, Bre, and April.

I DON'T WANT TO GO.

I don't want to see the pictures of A. as a baby, mugging for the camera, hugging her sisters and brother. I don't want to see her letter for Silks, her honor roll plaques, the things her Mom had been saving for her graduation party to display on a table.

I don't want to see the school busses pull up and the kids to roll off of it- their grief, their shock, over losing a friend or classmate. I don't want to see them realize that they are not invincible, the knowledge that Life can happen to them, not always someone else. Their tears will fill the room until we all will drown in the unfairness of it all.

Mostly I don't want to see her Mom. I don't know how her life has gone, but I do know just the fact of giving birth to children we love gives us so much in common. We both felt that magical feeling when you first lay eyes on your baby. The dreams your mind wonders into, what will she be when she grows up, will she get married, what will she dance to with her father at the wedding, will she be stubborn like me, go to the prom..........at some point an accident happened that we both held our breath, hearts racing wildly as you check to make sure your baby will be okay, all still in one peice. But for her- an accident happened and there was no place to kiss and make it better. Singing a soft song can't help. She won't wake up and find this to be a dream. There will be no story that ends with "you really gave us a scare but you were okay."

I imagine their grief like an ocean, endless and vast, sucking them away from the shore of everything they had always known, the sand sliding between their feet, stuck in a current they cannot control, drifting under, barely able to come up for air.

What words can I say? What difference will it make?

A few weeks ago we were at Idlewild and my Mom starts talking about baby Bobby and how she doesn't know how my Philly family surived losing him (I'll admit I think this often when I am out back watching the girls in the yard, and my grief sneaks up on me). As I was walking Pammy to another ride and I saw a cluster of butterflies. I felt like it was a message, Bobby, Aunt Francy, Smitty, Pammy; life is not over, they are never really gone, we just ache over the places we miss them in our daily lives. They are in Heaven and they are watching over us, pushing us forward, helping us emerge from the ocean and gulp the air. But it is a lesson or view everyone has to learn for themselves.

Every 13 year old should have a belly ring

2008-06-29T06:26:00.000-07:00

I am a stickler for GOOD parenting. For being a kids parent and not trying to act young and be there friend. However I never comment on what I think to be bad behavior (on the parents part) I come on here and just wonder what drives them.

Yesterday at a family party we found out that one of the smaller cousins who is almost 15, has had her belly button peirced since she was 13. For what? What did this accomplish? If you are older and yo decide you want one fine, but 13? At 13 my sister was still secretly playing baby dolls. I should not be surprised at a winter function the Mom was fully supporting the 14 y/o dating a 17 y/o.

The icing on the cake is the adults mentioned jello shots and the about to be 13 y/o twins declare "Jello shots are good" chiming in with Miss Belly Button Peircing USA, and when they were at a party for New Years the parent said "blue jello for the kids, red for the adults" but had it mixed up. But because they were all so drunk no one realized she had it backwards. Come on now. Are you kidding me? The ADULTS didn't klnow there was alcohol in those jello shots? And who makes non-alcoholic jello shooters for kids? Give them a bowl of jello, or you know what some barbies because they are 12!!!!!!

Right now I am parenting a 1 year old and a 3 year old so maybe I just don't know. Maybe by the time Pammy is 11 I will uy her a 30 pack of thongs, take her for her first nipple peircing, and when she gets pregnant raise the baby as my own. That might just be fine and socially acceptible by then.

You should need a lisence to be a parent sometimes.

Write This Way

2008-06-24T18:00:00.000-07:00

I have a couple blogs right now. There is my Parenting Blog, a Weightloss Blog, a myspace blog where I rant about current day music lyrics and their pretentiousness. But I needed a spot just to clear my head and think. I don't want to confess that at 235 pounds that I ate 3 cupcakes and 3 cookies today. I don't want to delve into the fact that I think my Mom wants me to stay fat so she keeps sending me down home baked food to make my kitchen a Fat Girl temptation island. I also want to forget the fact that I stepped in a hairball and had to scrub my carpet.

I want to get all the thoughts running around my head to slow down a bit.

My husband and I put the house up for sale. I love this house. I thought we would live here forever. Apperently 5 years in our world is forever. We out grew this house so quickly I feel like we are bursting at the seams with it. I love looking at houses. It is like you go and walk through and seem to think "No this isn't right" or "Now we could put the couch here...if the next baby is a boy the girls could have bunk beds in this larger bedroom..." It is like endless possibilities. Dreaming....

Hopefully our house sells and we can start making somewhere else home.